The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay as Margaret Hartwood stepped through the undergrowth of Waltham Wood. Her heart raced, a mixture of excitement and dread spiralling through her veins. A local legend spoke of these woods, of forgotten echoes trapped within the gnarled roots and warped branches—whispers of those who had wandered into the depths only to never return. But Margaret was not here to indulge in ghost stories; she was here to unearth the truth behind her brother’s mysterious disappearance.
Three months had passed since Thomas’s last correspondence—a brief, muddled letter that hinted at discoveries that jutted against the very fabric of time. As Margaret sifted through the remnants of their shared childhood, she had always known there was more to her brother’s obsession with the supernatural. And when he vanished, leaving nothing but unanswered questions and a dishevelled office crammed with notes about time travel and alternate realities, Margaret felt compelled to pursue the only thread left to her.
As she walked deeper, the trees seemed to close in around her, their dark shadows forging a path lined with silence. The woods reportedly twisted reality, bending perception into a kaleidoscope of possibilities; but as Margaret traversed the damp soil, she could not shake the feeling that someone was watching her. Disturbed leaves rustled behind her, and the prickling sensation of eyes seemed to bore into her back.
“Thomas?” she called out, the sound bouncing off the trunks with an eerie echo. She could hear nothing but the low whispering of the wind through the branches. A familiar chill danced across her skin as she moved forward, her flashlight beam cutting through the growing dusk. Each step triggered an alarming remembrance of the nightmares she’d had since Thomas’s disappearance, where he called for her from a distant, shadowy landscape.
As the light flickered, she stumbled upon an old stone altar, half-buried under vines and grime. Runes, barely discernible beneath layers of moss, adorned the surface, their etchings shimmering faintly as if infused with ancient energy. Heart pounding, Margaret knelt beside it, tracing the symbols with trembling fingers. They resonated with a strange familiarity, hinting at stories she felt she ought to know.
Suddenly, the air thickened, vibrating with an unnatural hum. Margaret recoiled as shadows spiralled from the altar, coalescing into something form-like yet formless. Tentatively, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool surface of what felt like a veil. As she did, the shadows pulsed, thrumming with a force that sent the ground shaking beneath her. Time itself seemed to ripple around her, collapsing and stretching as if her very existence was being called into question.
“Thomas!” she shouted, desperation clawing at her throat. The veil shimmered back in reply, swirling into a translucent, flickering image. A figure emerged, its outline stabilising into that of her brother. Relief washed over her in waves as she studied his familiar features, now warped by the space between worlds. “Margaret, you must listen!” His voice echoed, a piercing wail against the dissolving realms. “There’s no time!”
“What’s happened to you?” Tears stung her eyes as she fought to grasp the fabric of reality bending around her. “Where are you?”
“I’m trapped here! They’re using me!” His form flickered violently, and she could see shadows looming behind him, amorphous figures with hollow eyes that swallowed the light around them. “You need to break the seal—they can’t reach you as long as it’s intact!”
“Break what seal?” Margaret’s voice trembled, panic twisting through her. “How?”
But his image flickered one last time, glitches like a failing television before disappearing into the depths of shadows swirling around the altar. Margaret felt the world sway beneath her, reality threatening to fold and trap her within the veil. She closed her eyes, willing the shadows to relent.
As she opened them, she was back among the trees, breathless and disoriented, standing alone with the altar looming before her. A desperate spark ignited within her; she wouldn’t allow her brother’s plea to vanish into the ether. She had to understand. She had to be brave.
The markings on the altar heated beneath her touch, and with an instinctive motion, she began tracing the runes in the air. The hum returned, vibrating against her skin, each stroke illuminating a flood of memories drowned in the past. She felt events cascading—the moments of laughter with Thomas, shared dreams of adventure, the quiet moments on their back porch, and the darker days of disagreement as his obsession grew.
Suddenly, energy crackled through her, and the atmosphere pulled taut as the symbols danced under her fingertips, glowing fiercely against the dark. Each rune unfurled shadows, revealing pathways obscured by time, stretching before her like roads in a chiaroscuro painting.
And then it came—the sensation of falling. The ground dropped away as she hurtled through dimensions, fragments of her brother’s last days rushing towards her. Echoes of his laughter melded with anguished cries, casting a kaleidoscope of emotions—his fascination, his terror, his longing to know what lay beyond.
Before she could fully comprehend it, Margaret found herself standing on a precipice, staring into a swirling void of unmade stars. Her heart raced as she sensed the shadows beckoning, urging her forward with whispered promises of discovery.
“Thomas!” she cried, voice strained against the weight of the unknown. She took a step nearer to the edge, the void shifting like a living thing, when an ice-cold grip seized her ankle and pulled her down. Panic surged; she tumbled, spiralling into a darkness that swallowed her whole.
When she landed—thudding against a cold stone floor—she gasped for breath, her surroundings dimly lit by flickering braziers. Towering shadows loomed around her, indistinct figures whispering desperately, churning in a cacophony of sound. Realisation crashed around her: she wasn’t alone. In the depths of this other realm, Thomas stood bound, shackled by the shadows nearby, his eyes wide with terror.
“Margaret!” He strained against his bindings as she rushed forth, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs.
“What is this place?” she breathed, reaching for him but unable to break the barrier of dark energy imprisoning him.
“They need souls,” he panted, urgency flooding his voice. “They feed on doubt and despair, twisting reality to trap those who wander too close. I— I tried to understand, to explore, but it was a mistake!” He strained against his chains, anguish contorting his features. “You shouldn’t have come here!”
“I don’t care!” she shouted back, forging through pools of darkness until she fought her way to his side. “I can’t leave you!”
“They’ll use you too,” he warned, panic echoing through his tone. “We have to find a way to sever the bond! The altar — it can protect you.”
Desperately she searched for anything that could break the veil of shadows entwining around them. The whispers grew louder, swirling through her mind, each one trying to peel away her resolve, to plant doubt and fear. “You’ll never escape! You’re trapped!”
“Margaret! Focus!” Thomas’s voice broke through the cacophony like a soothing balm. “Remember the runes! The seal will protect you!”
Nodding resolutely, she closed her eyes, digging deep within herself for strength. Drawing a deep breath, she recalled the runes, weaving them in her mind like a tapestry. The chill of the shadows crept closer, clawing at her thoughts, but she pushed back, picturing the words she had traced against the altar, each arcane line flowing through her with renewed energy.
The stone around them began to pulse, resonating with her determination like a heartbeat. Light surged forward, bright and blinding, pushing the shadows away, severing the chains that held Thomas captive. The figures hissed in anger, writhing as they were engulfed by the radiance.
“Now!” Thomas shouted, and she grasped his hand, the glow weaving around them both. With the last surge of power, the bond shattered.
In a fiery explosion of light, they were thrown back together, tumbling through a void as they grasped onto each other, anchored by the bond they had forged through childhood.
Margaret awoke in Waltham Wood, grass and earth cool against her skin. Thomas lay beside her, breathing, his features relaxed. The altar, now merely a moss-covered stone, looked indistinguishable from the rest of the woodland. They sat up, staring at one another, disbelief etched across their expressions.
“Did we…” Margaret began, her voice trembling.
“Break the seal?” Thomas lifted his gaze, the haunted look in his eyes slowly giving way to warmth. “I think we did.”
A new dawn broke over the horizon, chasing away the shadows that had nearly consumed them. As they stood up, Margaret felt light—like a weight had been lifted. The woods around them, filled with echoes of time, held no fear. They had faced the darkness and emerged together, forged stronger by the terror they had truly confronted.
Together they walked back through Waltham Wood—this time, hand in hand, ready to embrace whatever came next.
